


2.1 out of 5.0

by minlouvre



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Black Mirror: Nosedive, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, Inspired by Black Mirror, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Voyeurism, sex against windows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minlouvre/pseuds/minlouvre
Summary: You were a 4.9 and he was a 2.1, and that fact alone should have made you realize that the two of you were never meant to be. But as the saying goes, “the heart wants what it wants”.





	2.1 out of 5.0

You live in a bubble, you know that. A bubble filled with Sunday brunch at the country club, playing a couple holes of golf with your father after and then maybe a few sets of tennis with your mother. A bubble filled with trips to Italy on Winter Break, Hawaii on Spring Break, a month in Japan and another in India during summer vacation. A bubble filled with Friday nights at the clubs that only 4.0’s and higher can get into, drinking the most expensive bottles of Dom Perignon champagne and dancing the night away with your big group of friends that only consisted of 4.5’s and higher. Your high society bubble of only ever interacting with people that are rated 4.0 and higher, a bubble that only 3% of the world population is a part of.

You knew that and you were perfectly content with it, and why wouldn’t you be? You didn’t know anything else.

But that all changed one Friday night, two weeks before your first year at Yale Law School, when a hurricane by the name of Moon Hyuna burst through the doors of your Manhattan loft, silver hair windswept and her usually unamused-looking eyes wide with excitement as she shouts out, “I got it! I got it!”

When you heard her voice, you got up your king sized bed and sauntered over to the banister of your lofted bedroom to look down at the living room where you see Hyuna twirling around and around, trying to find you.

“Got what?” You call out, which makes her look up at you with a dazzling smile as she holds up two lace masquerade mask – one white and the other silver – for you to see. You squeal at the sight of them, quickly running down the metal spiral staircase so you can join her in your living area. You were shook to say the least, the two of you have been trying to get a hold of those masks for a few months now and no luck – until now, an hour before the event they’re meant for started. “How did you manage to get it?”

She clicks her tongue, pressing a finger to her dark purple painted lips. “Secret…” Then she gives you the white lace mask. “Try it!”

You nod, looking at your beautiful friend and the personal information that hovers beside her.

                                                 

You hold up the mask in front of your eyes, and when you look at Hyuna again, there was nothing there anymore. No name, no rating, no information of any sorts. It was like you were young again, before you obtained the mandatory contact lens and mobile phone at age of 16 that will forever dictate your life. It was a peculiar but refreshing sight that you miss.  
  
“Can you see  _my_  profile?”  
  
She shakes her head. “Nope, once you wear the mask, anonymity goes both ways. Even people without masks on can’t see your information.”

“Wow, wow, wow,” you whisper excitedly, turning around so your best friend can properly tie the mask for you. Hyuna swiftly does it in a perfect bow, and then she rests her hands on your shoulders, pushing you towards the front door. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

“Wait, what?!” You exclaim, stepping your foot down forcefully so Hyuna would have trouble pushing you any further. You look down at your clothes – an ivory silk-blend satin slip dress with lace detailing at the bottom that hits just a bit above your knees. It was your pajamas, you had no idea that you were going out tonight. “I can’t go out like this!”

Hyuna blinks, confused. Yes, it was a bit provocative but it’s actually something that a lot of the girls that she worked with would wear when off duty during fashion week – well, they would match it with jeans and probably a shirt underneath but you’re going to a party for crying out loud! What you’re wearing is perfect in Hyuna’s eyes. But maybe you do need  _one_  thing… She shrugs off her black leather jacket and places it on your shoulders. She runs her hand through your hair a few times, making it a bit messier. From her purse, she pulls out a tube of pink cream blush and spreads a thin layer on the apples of your cheeks and what was left over from her fingers, on your lips. Looking you over to admire with her work, Hyuna nods firmly.

“You look hot. Wear your black So Kates and then let’s go. It’s going to take us forever to get to Williamsburg, and I don’t want to miss a single moment of this party.”

You couldn’t agree more, so you follow her to your door without any more argument.

 

* * *

   
The UN/KNOWN Ball is the most highly anticipated event in New York City – even more so than the Met Ball, The Governor’s Ball, and the New Year’s Eve Ball Drop at Time Square combined. Like all those events, it happens annually and each one even better than the last. It’s no surprise that everyone in the city that never sleeps would try to get their hands on an invitation – the masks that made the whole event possible - but there are only 600 given out. 150 are reserved for the residents of the Big Apple - 60 of those for people with ratings of 4.0 and higher, 40 for the 3.0-3.9 range, 25 for the 2.0-2.9 range, 15 for the 1.0-1.9, and the last ten would be given to the most influential (re: hottest) New Yorkers of the year – the ones that got the most likes and comments on their social media accounts.

The other 450 masks are given to people outside the city. Even though there have been many who tried to recreate a party like an UN/KNOWN party, the original is still the best and everybody knows that. That’s why people from all around the world would travel to New York just to party for one night. The details of how they hand out the masks in other places is still murky to you, but what you know is that it’s a lot harder than how Hyuna got your invitations. All she had to do was call up a few contacts from her modelling agency and viola! – 2 masks were given to her.

As you and Hyuna stood in line to get in the venue of the party that’s already blasting amazing music, you couldn’t help but people watch. Every person that pass you by had their masks on, and it’s weird to know that when they look at you, they couldn’t learn your name or know your rating or anything about you. You were a complete stranger to them, as they are for you – and that’s the way it should be.

You roll your eyes when you hear the two girls behind you trying to guess people’s score just by the clothes on their back. The whole point of the UN/KNOWN Ball was to party with people you would have never acknowledge in your daily life. The anonymity helping break the barrier of the ratings. It’s a night to just let loose without being judged, a night when someone with the score of 1.0 can share a drink with a 4.0 and feel no awkwardness whatsoever. If you start trying to guess people’s scores, then what’s the point? The barrier will start to build again, even before you know it.

“I bet they’re in the high 4.0s,” you hear one whisper. “The one with the grey hair kind of looks like Moon Hyuna, doesn’t she?”

“Oh my god, you’re right!” The other whispers back. “And isn’t the other one Y/N, Jeon Jungkook’s older sister?”

“You would know… you only look his profile 10 times a day.”

You were about to turn around and tell them that it’s actually called ‘stalking’, but Hyuna circles her arm around yours and starts dragging you forward with the moving line. She giggles, then whispers in your ear, “I guess the mask can’t really hide  _our_  identity, huh?”

You grumble angrily, hoping that’s not the case, as the two men at the front door scan your mask and then you were let in.

 

* * *

 

Only an hour into the party, and you already felt a bit let down. Maybe you hyped it up too much in your head that it made the real deal so mediocre. The thing is, everything was amazing – the music because behind the booth was Rap Monster, the most popular up and coming DJ in the Tri-State area; the drinks; the h'orderves… Everything was great  _but_  the people… Maybe Hyuna was right that the mask didn’t hide your identity because everyone that has come up to you treated you like how they usually would. All you heard was compliments left and right and ugh – you were  _so_ bored. If tonight was going to be like any other night, you would have just stayed inside. You decided to go home, eyes already searching for the girl with silver hair who you lost half an hour ago. You just had to tell Hyuna that you’re leaving first, and then you were out of there. You sat up from the bar stool you’ve been sitting on for most of the night, surprising the people who were crowding around you, and walked away without a goodbye.

You knew that Hyuna would probably be in the center of the room, dancing like her life depended on it, so that’s where you should start your search. You push through throngs and throngs of perspiring bodies, your nose filling up with a million different scents that makes your head hurt. Finally, you managed to get into a small clearing near the middle of the room and your search begins again.

But before you can spot her, you see  _him_  instead.

The devil on the dance floor.

And that was almost quite literal, seeing as the mask he was wearing was a burgundy red with two protruding horns. With messy inky hair and an all-black attire of a bomber jacket, a loose fitting scoop neck t-shirt, jeans with rips on the knees, and high-top converse, he stood out from the crowd of people who were doing the most and he did that by doing the least. He didn’t need any of the flashy clothing that everybody else was wearing, he was conspicuous enough on his own.

It was strange because although there was no score or information to be seen and his face was hidden behind a red devil mask, you were instantly attracted to him.

Licking your lips, you wished you were the girl his fingers were digging the hips of, pulling her closer to him for more friction as they rocked together to the throbbing beat of the bass. The devil, as you start to call him in your head, had his mouth on the column of the girl’s neck and his left hand leaves her hip to glide down to the inside of her thigh, and she looked like she was in pure ecstasy from all the attention he was giving her. Or all the attention she _thought_  he was giving her, because little did she know that his eyes – his deep, dark, captivating eyes – were on you.

With just one look alone, he had your whole body burning up. Biting your bottom lip while your eyes are still locked with the devil, you shrug off the leather jacket you were wearing, arching your back seductively during the process. The satin material of your dress did not hide the fact that you were not wearing a bra. And that was all it took for him to pry his body away from the girl (who was pissed, and you couldn’t blame her) to make his way over to you.

You wait, rooted on the spot. All you can see is him. Everything and everyone else was a blur. When he reaches you, it doesn’t take long for him to invade your space. His hands grips onto your hips like you had wanted him to, so green with envy at the girl he was just with a minute ago. And now that his long, delicate fingers were on you, you were wishing on every star that you couldn’t see but know is now shining in the night sky that another girl won’t snatch away his attention, that you’ll be the only one he’ll have his eyes on for the rest of the night.

“I just had to come over to ask if it had hurt when you fell from heaven, angel,” The devil whispers, and he is so, so close that you feel his soft lips lightly touching the shell of your ear. You suck in a breath, because if you weren’t wet before (which, oh god, you definitely were), the deep, husky tone of his voice was enough to have you dripping.

You exhale – a bit raggedly – before answering, and it’s a wonder how you kept your pitch even and flirty, “Angel, huh? Shouldn’t I stay away from you if that’s the case?”

Your pointed stare at his horns makes the devil chuckle. His arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer to him, his forehead touching yours. His dark eyes, half-lidded and pupils blown, were so much more beautiful close up. And it was so hard to think with his hot breath fanning your cheeks, you’re breathing in his air and he is breathing in yours. He lifts the arm not wrapped around you to tuck your hair behind your ear, as he murmurs words that only you can hear, “I suppose you should, but I think we both know that you don’t want to do that.”

That was the moment you knew that if you were really an angel, he was the sole reason you got banished from the clouds and lost your wings. The fallen angel that fell for Lucifer’s tricks, as you close the gap between the two of you, your mouth crashing onto his with craving, with desperation.

You let go of the jacket you were holding onto, it falls on the floor forgotten as you use both your hands to grab the devil’s face, his tongue already parting your lips so it can tangle with yours. The hand he used to tuck back your hair was now making its way down your body. He starts just under your armpit and slowly caress down, stopping to cup your breast, grazing his thumb on your hardening nipple. He smiles into the kiss when you moan softly because of his touch. And you’re not going to lie, you were glad to be wearing your silk dress, the smoothness of the material made the pressure of his touch so much more pleasurable. His mouth leaves yours to start sucking between the junction of your neck and shoulder as his hand continues traveling down again, down your stomach to the swell of your hips. Then his grip becomes harder when he reaches the top of thigh, nails dragging down your leg until he reached the bottom of your dress. With his hand now underneath your dress, he asks, “Do you want this? Please tell you want this…”  
  
You nod eagerly and with your consent, he reverses his previous action, dragging his hand up as his fingers digs into your inner thighs to hike up your dress enough to get the spot on your body you’ve both been wanting him to reach.

“Fuck,” he hisses sharply, taken aback by what he found waiting for him between your legs – or not waiting. “Here I thought you were an angel, but no bra? No underwear? You’re absolutely filthy.” He then drags a finger between your folds, earning an eager whimper from you. You clutch onto his arms, mouth parting in a silent moan when he adds another finger to languidly circle your clit. “And so fucking wet already…” He mutters, biting back a groan as he spreads your juices around your lips. “Maybe you’re not as innocent as I thought, isn’t that right, angel?”

He must not have liked your silent nod of an answer, taking his hand out from under your skirt. You were about to protest until you see him lift his hand up, putting the two digits that were just inside you into his mouth for a taste. With wide eyes, you watch as he closes his eyes, pleased with your taste. When his lids lifts open again, he tilts his head at you, repeating himself, “Isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes,” you managed to say. You needed him so badly, already missing the heat of his hand between your thighs. It was never like you to beg, but tonight is a night full of firsts, and so you beg, “Please, I need–”

His hand is under your dress again, cupping your mound gently, with just enough pressure from his middle finger on your slit to make lose your train of thought. Your head falls on the crook of his neck, eyes squeezing shut.

“Need what?” He teases, stilling his fingers just pushed slightly inside your entrance. “Angel… Baby… You gotta tell me exactly what you need.”

Liking the new nickname, you show him that by sucking on his neck. He enjoyed the kitten licks from your tongue and he rewards you by pushing his finger slightly deeper into you. It felt so good that you needed more. But you knew that he wouldn’t give any more, not until you voice it.

“I-I need your fingers in me, please…”

“Good girl,” he praises, plunging his index finger deep inside you. You were so tight around his single finger that his head spins at the thought of burying his hardening length in you. But first… “Do you want more, angel?”

“Yes, please, I want more.”

With a satisfied hum, he adds another finger, and he hisses –  _fuck_  – because you’re so, so tight that he could barely move them even though you were so, so wet. A sweet, little whimper leaves your open mouth as you roll your hips to try to get him to move inside you faster. The sight of you trying so desperately to get fucked by his fingers had the devil groaning. “Angel, you’ll be the death of me.”

Finally, he starts to accelerate his pace.

You smack your lips together, keeping them like that for the long duration of time the two elongated, skillful fingers were thrusting deep and fast into your sopping wet pussy – again and again and again. You had to be imagining it, but the lewd sounds of what’s happening underneath your dress were so loud in your ears, even louder than the shrill sounds of the synthesizer in the song playing. You look around to see if anyone was watching, only to be a tiny bit disappointed that everyone else was doing their own thing, dancing or mingling with other people, no one paying attention to you and the devil who now had three fingers inside you.

“Dirty girl…” The devil says, sounding quite amused. Knuckle deep in you, he curls his fingers causing you to buck forward into the palm of his hands, your forehead on his chest. “I saw that look. You want people to see me fucking you with my fingers, don’t you? Want them to see how much your dripping all over my hand?”

His thumb massaging your clit was like the devil’s own version of a truth serum that you find yourself nodding, feeling no shame at all for the wicked desire.

“Good,” he says. “Cause I think we have an audience.”

Your eyes follow his gaze to your left, and sure enough, there are two men whose own gaze were stuck like glue to the movement that’s happening underneath your dress. The heaviness of their brazen stares and the devil’s ardent ministration had you so delirious that you finally let your mouth fall open to voice your pleasure in many, many soft, needy moans. The sounds you were making causes the taller of the two -the one with red hair plastered on his sweaty forehead, wearing a simple black Zorro-like mask – to tear his eyes away from the bottom half of you so he can look at your face.

He feels both your eyes and the devil’s eyes on him, and he flicks his own between the two of you, watching how the devil was now biting along the column of your neck. At the arousing sight, Zorro pulls the shorter man with bright, bubblegum pink hair wearing a white mask decorated with white feathers, closer to him. The pink-haired man giggles cutely, winking your way as he starts to gyrate his perfect ass harder on the other man’s crotch. You could tell by the way the red-haired man was biting his lips and closing his eyes that he was trying hard not to come in his pants right then and there.

It’s like the four of you were playing some kind of twisted game, trying to see who will crack first.

You knew you would the first to lose, especially when you start feeling that coil tightening.

But would it be considered losing if it felt so incredible?

With his free hand, the devil grabs your chin for you to face him. Eyes on each other once again, it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the room.

“Angel, are you going to come for me?”  
  
You nod, feeling your high approaching quickly. He grins because already knew you were close. He lets go of your face to wrap his arm around the back of your waist, to supports you as he thrust his fingers into you a few more time, this time slower, harder, and deeper. You’re gasping now, a lot louder than you would deem appropriate in a room full of people. But you don’t care, it felt far too good to be embarrassed about it.

“Then come, angel. Let them see how you’re coming because of me and only for me.”

With a final flick of his thumb on your clit, all you see is white. All three men watch you come undone so beautifully with your head thrown back, back arching, and mouth parted wide in a muted moan as waves after waves of pleasure overtake your whole being.

Before you know it, your falling forward into the devil’s chest again. Breathing ragged and limbs feeling weak. You roll your head to the side, and the last thing you see from the two men that were watching was the pink-haired one turning around to heatedly kiss the other, and then you lose sight of them in the sea of dancing bodies.

Finally able to lift your head up, your attention goes back to the man in front of you. You watch as he licks his lips, his dark gaze on his cum-covered hand before his eyes flick up to look into yours. With just that look, the two other men were long forgotten in your mind.

“I really, really want to fuck you right now,” he drawls huskily, still thinking about the way you fell apart in his arm during your climax. He  _needs_ to see it again to ingrain the breathtaking image in his head, but he wants to be buried in you the next time he sees it.

“Why don’t you?” you challenge, still panting out of breath because your orgasm.

“There’s too much going on in here. I want to worship that sweet, tight pussy of yours with no distractions,” he mumbles into your ears, voice so heavy with hunger that it has you shivering in anticipation. You press your hand on the prominent bulge in his pants, making the devil buck into your hand to feel more of your touch. You palm him harder, whispering back into his ears, “Then what are you waiting for? Let’s find a place where you can do just that.”

Suppressing a moan by biting hard on his bottom lip, the devil parts from you slightly and he tugs down your dress so it back to its normal length, hitting just above your knees. Since your legs were still feeling quite like jelly and wobbly, you say a quiet thank you when the devil wraps an arm around your waist to guide you out of the crowded dance floor. He helps you up the stairs to the second floor of the club, his hand holding onto yours the whole time like a gentleman. So patient and kind, even though it took you far too long to climb up.

When you reach the top of the stairs, the two of you walk on. To get your destination, you happen to pass a group of boisterous friends. A man with bright orange hair and a black Batman masks at the center of the group lifts his hand up when he sees the devil, a huge heart-shaped smile present on his face as he calls out, “Hey Yoon-“

You hear the man in front of you growl lowly, causing Batman to shriek before he could finish his greeting, latching onto the girl with a monarch butterfly mask beside him. The rest of the group takes that as a hint that they should ignore the man you were with, choosing to laughing at Batman instead.

“Friends of yours?” You ask curiously, looking back one more time. One of the girls, one with short ash blonde hair and had on a black mask with bunny ears, was staring at you. Her mouth widens when she sees your eyes on her, giving you a thumbs up before the bleached blond male beside her wearing the Captain America mask reprimands her to turn around. You chuckle, turning back towards the devil when you hear him speak, “Maybe any other day. But tonight, I don’t know them.”

He finds the double doors at the back of the room, pushing the handle of one to open. On the other side was a long hallway, and his lead stops a few doors down on the left of the side of hallway.

From his skinny jeans pocket, the devil takes out a white key card and holds it up against the scanner beside the door with the paper stuck on it that says ‘Rap Monster’s Dressing Room’. The door beeps, scanner glowing green to indicate it was now unlocked, and the devil turns the knob to open the door.

Straightaway, you start forming ideas about the mysterious stranger in front of you. Was he the DJ’s manager? That would mean he is the high 3.0s, right? Or was just a part of Rap Monster’s crew? That could still mean he is in the high ratings? Then does that mean he is as rich and influential as you?

You shake your head, killing each thought. You shouldn’t start this, it’s better to just not assume anything about him.

He turns to look at you, frowning at the faraway look in your eyes. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you back to reality. “Hey, if you don’t want to do this, we could just stop.”

Never in your life have you shook your head to fast and so frantically. “No, no, I want to do this!” You then giggle, eyes squeezing shut, a bit embarrassed at your reaction. “Sorry, I was just… I do that sometimes… Get lost in my own head.”

When you open your eyes, you find him staring in them. His own were like the black hole - you don’t care if you get lost in them forever. “Are you with me now?” He asks.

You nod, leaning in to kiss his lips. He sighs, and you feel him smiling against your mouth.

“Okay, good,” he says. Taking your hand, he pulls you inside the room and lets the door close by itself, locking with a click.

Mouth back on yours and your tongues already swirling together, the devil pushes you further inside the room, until your back hits the edge of the dressing room table. As the two of you continue to kiss, you manage to push his bomber off his shoulders and so he takes it off all the way, letting the jacket fly somewhere across the room. He lifts you up on the table, with one of your legs on either side of him. The next to come off was his shirt, and your hands trails softly down his bare chest, as your mouth also follows them down to kiss and nip at his skin, until your grabbing onto the buckle of his belt.

“No,” he says, gently prying your hands off him. You look in his eyes, confused. He chuckles, pushing your shoulders so your back hits the mirror. “I’ve just been dying to taste you more, if that’s okay with you, angel?”

“Yes,” you tell him with a shaky breath. It’s an offer you would never refuse.

At your answer, the devil gets down on his knee, putting your legs on each side of his shoulders, his hands grabbing onto your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the desk, closer to his parted mouth.

“Fuck, how is everything about you so beautiful?” he asks, licking his lips in preparation. You didn’t have time to answer something witty to his clearly rhetorical question because a moment later his tongue was flat against your slit – licking so meticulously and so eagerly. The devil was an expert and it doesn’t take long for you to feel your second orgasm of the night approaching quickly, especially when he starts diving his tongue inside.

“R-right there… O-oh my god,” You wail, writhing uncontrollably and your hands grabs onto fistfuls of the devil’s black hair. You’re buck your hips forward while you also push his head closer causing his tongue to delve deeper – and then you were dissolving into a messy, stuttering heap of pleasure.

Back on his feet, the devil raises your dress up so the light-weight material bunches on top of your breasts. He steps back for a moment to admire the glorious sight. Your legs spread open just for him, your pussy glistening from the two orgasms you’ve already had, dried trails of your cum down your legs from the act on the dance floor earlier, your chest rising and falling with every deep breath you were taking, one of your hands clutching onto your dress to keep it up and the other already back on your still overstimulated nub, your irresistible mouth red and swollen because of him, and your eyes – half-lidded and full of lust – were so captivating, the lace of your mask making the color stand out so much more.

“My devil,” you purr, and that has the man breathing harder. A ravenous growl escapes his mouth still glistening with your juices, wondering how he got so lucky to have met you tonight. You were thinking that as well, because even though you’ve already had two mind-blowing orgasms, just the mere sight of him – his dark eyes, his toned chest, his wonderful veiny hands, and the bulge straining beneath his pants - had you wanting so much more – greedy for more of his touch. “I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me now.”

Not needing to be told twice, he wraps your legs around his waist so he can carry you over to the chaise against the windowed wall. He lets you down just beside the couch, turning you around to face the window, lightly pushing you onto the couch after you had kicked off your black Louboutin pumps. With both your knees finally on the white leather, you hear the devil start getting rid of the rest of his clothing. Looking over your shoulders, you whimper wantonly at the sight of his erection, it was an impressive size for someone with his small stature – what it was lacking in width, it makes up with length. Unconsciously, you wiggle your ass towards him, earning two firm smacks on the cheeks from the devil. A shaky moan emits from your lungs, your hands pressing on the glass window to keep you from falling headfirst into it.

“You like that, don’t you?” The devil smirks, rubbing your slightly sore ass while he kicks off his pants and boxer. You’re looking back at him again, bottom lip between your teeth as you nod ardently. He growls, everything about you was driving him crazy. He slaps your ass a few more times, each sting from the palm of his beautiful hand had you keening for more, your wetness once again traveling down your legs. It was a sight that had the devil palming his length, so ready to take you. He knows being inside you will be a whole lot better than how you look and how you taste, as impossible as that sounds – because you look and you taste so fucking incredible.

Without wasting another second, the devil joins you on the couch. With his hands on your hips, he shimmies you closer and closer towards the giant windows, until your breasts were lewdly pressed up against the cold glass.

Eyes widening, you look down to see that the street below was quite busy. You swallow thickly, cautioning the man behind you who was leaving butterfly kisses on your neck, “People will see.”  
  
He chuckles, hand on the inside of you left thigh to push your legs further apart. “You weren’t complaining on the dance floor... In fact, I remember you telling me that you liked it when people watched.”

He was right of course, but something about this seems much more different than before.

The room was so bright with fluorescent light, not flashing strobe lights in a mostly dark room like in the nightclub. You feel so much more exposed here, there was nowhere to hide.

“So we should let them see,” He mummers in your ear as he scissors your folds between his fingers and that had you arching you back, head falling on his chest. “Wouldn’t that be more fun, angel?”

Maybe it was because the masks and knowing that your identity was hidden that you find yourself nodding. Or maybe it was because of the devil sucking on your shoulder that you find yourself wanting to do the most immoral things you can think of. Either way, the thought of people looking up to see you doing the most indecent of acts with a complete stranger was turning you on more than you can say was healthy.  
  
You rub your ass against his erection, making him curse as his hands leaves your soaking pussy to grab onto your waist. With both his hands back on your hips, you reach back to grab on his hardened length. He hisses as you slide it back and forth along your slit, your own unrestrained moans like music to his ears. Before you can plunge his length deep in you, his hand wrapping around your wrist forcefully stops you.

“Did I say you can fucking do that?” he snarls into your ears. You contain the whine threatening to escape your lips by biting the insides of cheeks, shaking your head ‘no’ instead.

“If you want something, ask nicely, like the good girl you are.”

So you do as he says, and beg, “Please fuck me… P-please… I need to feel your cock inside me.”

The devil tsk’ed twice, heading shaking. “Such a filthy mouth, angel.” Still, he guides his cock to your opening, pressing the head on it teasingly. Your breaths were now short and shallow, heartbeat rapidly increasing as he slowly pushes himself inside you.

“So tight… G-god damn…” he manages to say with labored breath, feeling lightheaded from how your walls seem to constrict around his length. When he’s buried in you to hilt, he stops to regain his composure. But you’re impatient, so you start rolling your hips back and forth as the devil grits his teeth to keep himself from blowing his load before anything had even started. He didn’t have the time to punish you for that, not when he too wanted what you wanted – for him to fuck you until you’re both seeing starts.

Even with your wanton movement, he managed to keep his orgasm back and he starts moving with you. Soon enough, the room is filled with sounds of his hips slamming into you and both your moans and grunts and cries of desire in harmony with each other.

“Look at them watching us,” the devil huffs in your ears. You were so lost in pleasure that you had forgotten that you were literally out on display for everyone to see. You gasp when you see that there’s a small crowd gathered below now, in small groups scattered along the block. You see some points and others even had their phones out, taking pictures and videos. “I bet from where they’re standing, they have the perfect view of how well your pretty cunt takes my cock, huh angel?”

A rush of exhilaration runs through you as you imagine how the two of you looked from their point of view. He was right, they probably did have a pretty amazing view of the two of you. The ones recording with their phones probably have the best one though - in HD, zooming in so close to see how fucked out you are, how the devil behind you was giving you everything you needed, how lovely his cock looks going in and out your equally lovely pussy.

The snaps of his hips were quickly becoming uneven, erratic; his length plunging deeper and harder into you, hitting that spot that had your toes curling. At the same time, you both reach down to press two fingers on your aching nub, and being a millisecond late, your hand was on top of his. Not that it matters, because you hold onto his hand instead, making it so much more intimate. He is going so rough and hard in every action he is doing to your body that you’re coming in multiple spurts before you realize it was happening. You’ve never came that hard before.

Not even a second later, you feel him unloading inside you, filling you up to the brim. He snaps his hips a few more times, his head collapsing on your shoulder, mouth leaving kisses on your back as he slides himself out.

You both collapse on the couch, laying down across it. The room was quiet except for the sounds of the two of you trying to catch your heaving breaths.

The two of you stay that way for a few minutes, then the devil turns over to face you, and you couldn’t help but smile at each other. He then hides his face in the crook of your neck, his laugh vibrating through you. Amused, you ask, “What are you laughing about?”

He lifts his head up to look into your eyes, you can see he was contemplating whether to tell you, his teeth gnawing the inside of his cheeks. He sighs, chuckling.   “I was just thinking about the first words I said to you.”

“When you asked if I fell from heaven?” you recall, voice going an octave higher in confusion.

He nods. “I usually don’t say…  _shit_ like that,” he says, ducking his head in embarrassment again. It was endearing seeing him like that, a juxtapose from the man who had whispered sweet, dirty nothings in your ears and fucked your brains out a few minutes ago – with people out on the streets watching, no less. But what he was embarrassed about was his shitty pickup line?

You run your hands through his slightly damp hair, humming. He looks up again, and you smile, “So what does that say about me since I fell for it?”

“Tipsy? Out of your mind? Rolling on something? All of the above?”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I haven’t drank a single drop of alcohol tonight! And as for E, I don’t touch that stuff.”

His mouth widens into a sweet gummy smile “Guess we have quite a few things common.”

There’s a beeping that could be heard from somewhere in the room, and the devil rolls over to see that it was coming from his jacket that was just an arm’s length away on the ground. He reaches over to grab it, taking his phone out his pocket.

“Cellphones are working again,” he informs you, and you look over to see the time on his cellphone screen, it was 11:30 PM.  
  
For the duration of the party, all cellular phones were programmed to not function when inside the building, but now it seems to be turned on again – probably so people can start calling for Ubers or taxis for rides home. It’s also a warning that the party is coming to an end because at the stroke of midnight, the mask will also lose their purpose.

He gets up and starts putting on his boxers, jeans and shoes that he had left on the floor. You stand up as well, pulling your dress down and then you find your heels to slip them on again. You feel the devil at your side, so you look at him just as he wraps his bomber jacket on you. “I think you need this more than I do.”

“Thanks,” you grin, allowing it to just hang over your shoulders, pulling it closer to you.

“No problem, it looks better on you anyway,” he says, smiling that gummy smile again. You heat up, muttering a pleased thank you. You follow him back to the dressing room table area, and he puts on his t-shirt while you try to fix your disheveled appearance in front of the mirror. When he was fully dressed, the devil stands behind you and he gathers your hair to place them all on one side. “You’re gorgeous, you know that right?”

Turning around to face him, you shrug playfully. “I’ve been told, once or twice.”

He laughs, then leans in to kiss you again. And you’re starting to get a feeling that behind the devil mask and the amazing fuck was a sweet person.

His phone chimes and you both look down to see a text message on the screen.  

> **[11:34 PM] [Name Redacted | Phone Number : (212)-321-xxxx]  
>  **dude, where are you?????? i have an early morning shift tomorrow  

He looks up at you, frowning. “I should go, I’m their ride home.”

He looked disappointed about the thought of leaving you, and you honestly felt the same way.

“Maybe we’ll see each other again?” you say it teasingly, but deep down inside you hoped it would happen, and that he wants to see you again as well.

He chuckles deeply, his thumb stroking your bottom lip before he presses his mouth on yours for another searing kiss.

“I hope so,” he whispers when you part, his dark eyes intensely looking into yours. You suddenly had the strong urge to pull off his mask to see who it is underneath. Not to see his score or his net worth like you usually do in your daily life, sizing up anyone you meet - but just to know his name, his hobbies, what he likes to do on weekends, what kind of people he surrounds himself with, if he likes the same things you do… “But for tonight, let’s just end it like this. If we’re truly meant to know each other, it’ll happen, right?”

Dolefully, you nod and then after another kiss, fleeting and bittersweet, the man with the devil mask turns and opens the door, walking out to leave you to wonder if you’ll ever cross his path again – and if you do, will you even know it’s him?  

 

* * *

 

After that night that you would never, ever forget, two weeks quickly passes by, and before you know it, it was the first day of your new life as a law student. The second you stepped foot into your first class of Criminal Law, you already knew you were way in over your head. There’s a small part of you that was screaming that you shouldn’t be there, that you should just turn around and quit before even starting.

But like every time you stepped into the room, strangers will turn to look at you, elated smiles on their faces as they see your rating beside your face - 4.9, the highest in the room. It’s too late to turn around now, all eyes were on you as they hoped you would make their day and sit beside them, talk to them, befriend them. So with a deep breath, you climb the stairs of the lecture hall, choosing to sit at the second last row that was empty.

You take your phone out and you weren’t surprised to see that in the short 10 second walk from the door to where you are now had earned you 30 5 stars rating from your new classmates. You start doing the same, rating them mindlessly, giving 5’s all across the board even though none of them really made any impression on you – it was just common courtesy.

From your black leather backpack, you take out a pen, a notebook, and your new law textbook and place them in front of you. You start flipping through the textbook, some pages still sticking slightly together because it had not even been opened once before. But as soon as your eyes scan a few key passages and phrases, you quickly shut it close. Your head was already beginning to throb.

You cross your arms on the table and rest your head on them, shutting your eyes. You were at peace for a while, almost drifting into sleep even though the volume of the voices of your classmates were quite high because of excitement for the new school year. You could have slept through the whole lecture if you wanted – and boy, did you want to - but it doesn’t take long for you to be disturbed.

“Can we sit here?”

Slowly, you lift your head up to see two boys staring at you, one tall with red hair and the other shorter with bright pink hair – a 4.6 and a 4.7 respectively. You nod, earning cheerful smiles from both as the shorter one sits on your left and the other on your right, encasing you between them so you have no other choice but to be social. So you sit up straight, flashing them that lovely, friendly smile that you’ve practiced and perfected over the years.

“I’m Jimin,” the one on your left says, cheeks as cotton candy pink as the color of his hair when he extends his hand towards you.

                                                  

“Y/N,” you tell him, and as you shake his hand, you feel the other one tapping your shoulder. You turn towards him when you let go of Jimin’s hand, his bright rectangular smile greeting you.

                                                  

“Kim Taehyung,” He says, speaking for the first time and you were a bit taken aback to hear how deep his voice was, but it was a nice tone – so on your phone, you like his band’s page to listen to his music later. He smiles wider when he sees the notification, and then says, “I see you’re friends with Seokjin,”

You nod, and from your own vision, you see that Taehyung has quite a few mutual friends with you but you know why he singled out Jin – he _is_  in almost every picture that you’ve posted or been tagged on. “Yeah, he’s my best friend actually. Since we were in diapers.”

“Oh, Interesting! My band just signed on his father’s label this summer. I see him sometimes at the studio,” he tells you.  _Hm_ … His band must be the one Jin has been telling you to listen to all summer.

“That’s awesome!” You exclaim. Then you look between him and Jimin. “How do you two know each other?”

“Like you and your friend Seokjin, we’ve been friends since we were in diapers,” Jimin answers with a giggle. He then leans closer, his hand cupping the side of his mouth to whisper to you, “I’m really just in this program to give Tae some moral support.”

“Ah, I see,” you reply, though still a bit confused.

“Yeah, my dad is forcing me study law. If I don’t, he said he’ll cut my spending in half, then take me off his will and that he’ll ask my grandfather to do the same,” Taehyung grumbles, clearly annoyed.

You give him a gentle smile and nod, empathizing with the boy.   “We’re on the same boat. My dad hasn’t voiced the consequences I’ll face if I don’t become a lawyer,  _but_  I’m  _guessing_  it’s similar to what your dad’s going to do.”

Jimin laughs, leaning on the table so he’ll be closer to both you and Taehyung as he says, “Hey, don’t be so glum you two. It’ll be a breeze. Especially with our ratings _and_  our influential families.”

He winks, causing his best friend to roll his eyes. Then Taehyung perks up, glancing at you.

“Oh, isn’t your father—“

There’s a commotion in the front of the room that stopped Taehyung from asking his question. Your head turns to see what it was about, and your mouth drops comically. But you couldn’t help it, not when you see  _him_.

The man with inky, black hair and dark eyes who had strolled into the room, looking so disinterest and not acknowledging anyone – not in a timid way, but in a ‘he can’t even be bothered’ sort of way. He sits in the first row, front and center, and the people who had been sitting around him before he came got up and found another place to settle down  _far_ , _far_  away from him – treating him like a pariah.

Maybe that’s not far from the truth.

Because in a room full of 4.5’s and higher, he was the solitary 2.1.

“What the hell is  _he_  doing here?” You hear Jimin murmur in disbelief, laughing quietly by blowing air through his nose. As terrible as it sounds, you’re asking the same question in your head because to get accepted in Yale University – or any Ivy League for that matter – a person’s rating must be in the 4.0s. And not to mention, the Law Program had a higher prerequisite of 4.5 and higher. So this  _Min Yoongi_  had to be in the wrong class – hell, the wrong school – because him being in that room did not make any sense whatsoever.

“And he’s not even from an important family,” Taehyung says, brows furrowed in puzzlement as he is already scrolling though the outcast’ profile. “Hold up… I don’t even think he  _has_  a family.”

Your brows knit closer together, about to ask Taehyung what he meant by that but a new figure comes into the room and the students start to lower the volume of their voices.

The new arrival was the instructor of the class, Professor Gong, who makes his way to his desk in the front of the room, placing his bag down on his chair and then placing the bundle of paper he had tucked under his arm on his desk. Professor Gong then turns to face his students, his eyes scanning the room as he smiles widely, even at the man with the low rating at the front but nothing was said, not even a look of surprise. “Welcome everyone, I’m Professor Gong and I’ll be your Criminology 101 instructor for this semester. It’s a pleasure to be teaching all of you, and I hope that by the end of this course, you’ll all be able to never  _ever_  let  _anyone_  get away with murder!”

The class laughs, genuinely too, and you can see why Professor Gong’s rating was so high.

                                                 

For a teacher to maintain a high rating wasn’t impossible but it’s rare. But a 4.7? That was absolutely astonishing. But he had charm and an easygoing smile that made him likable, so you weren’t  _that_  surprised.

Professor Gong then points to two people at the front, asking them for their help to hand out the papers he had on his desk. And then class truly commenced.

As the lecture goes on, you were enjoying it more than you thought you would. Professor Gong discussed the outline for the semester, and each section sounding even more interesting than the last. You listen diligently, scribbling down so many notes that your hand was starting to cramp - and you have never been a big note taker, so Professor Gong was clearly doing something right. 

In the final 15 minutes of class, he presented a hypothetical scenario, and what the students had to do was to find a defense for the case, to think of what sort of profile could you build. It was about a man who was said to be evading his taxes. How could you prove he was innocent? Or, on the other hand, how could you prove he was guilty?

“It depends… What’s their rating?” a guy a couple rows down asks loudly, right hand shooting up.

Professor Gong tilts his head inquiringly, pursing his lips before asking, “What do you mean by that, Mr. Choi?”

                                                

Choi Minho chuckles, “Well Prof, I mean… if his score is higher than 4.0 then he is clearly innocent –“ he gives an exaggerated wink towards the professor and then he looks around the room, arms slightly raised and palms up, “- am I right or am I right?”

The two boys on either side of you laugh, clearly supportive of Minho’s answer, as did the rest of the class. You felt uncomfortable, not at all agreeing with what the charismatic boy had said, but you find yourself chuckling timidly with the crowd. You didn’t want to be only one  _not_  laughing and agreeing with him. That would be social suicide.

“You’re wrong.”

Every head turns to the front of the room, to the boy who had spoken out against Minho’s favored response.

Eyes narrowing, Minho glares at the man with the lowest score who hadn’t even bothered to turn around to look at him, “What did you say? At least have the gut to say it to my face, pal.”

Slowly, Min Yoongi turns his whole upper body so he can look into Minho’s eyes as he drawls, “I said: You. Are. Wrong.” He raises his eyebrows, as he tucks his chin down slightly. “Do I have to say it slower, or…?”

Minho’s nostrils flare, feeling the anger starting to bubble up inside. How dare some 2.1 trash talk to him this way?

“Now Mr. Min, at least provide some argument on why you think differently from Mr. Choi,” Professor Gong says, frowning. “It’s good to debate, to see other people’s point of view.”

Yoongi nods slowly and then stands up, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  “Uh… Okay…  _Let’s see_ … First of all, there’s actually laws now that can get the jury fined and even arrested if there is any indication that they based their verdict on the Defendant’s rating. Secondly, is that something you really want in your conscious? Letting an innocent person be put away for a crime they didn’t commit, or letting a guilty person free, just because of their score? And lastly, any lawyer that actually tries to pull the rating card deserve to get disbarred because  _really_? If you can’t think of any other defense for your client, then you’re pretty shitty at doing your job.” Yoongi scrunches his face faintly at the boy he was debating against. “Wouldn’t you say so?”

Minho shakes his head, chuckling humorlessly. He knew Yoongi was right, there’s no argument on his part that could change that. Yoongi had made him look so stupid in front of the whole class, so his thumb presses on his phone screen and then the gloomy chime of a low score being rated was heard at the front of the room.

You look around and you see a few more people following suit, and Min Yoongi’s rating of 2.1 drops to a 1.9 in a blink of an eye. You felt sick to your stomach because it wasn’t fair. He was just providing the truth.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Professor Gong bellows, angered with the disorder happening in his classroom already. “I don’t know if some of you skipped the reading that I sent everybody here a week ago, but I clearly stated in that document that no ratings will be permitted inside this classroom - high ratings and low ratings alike. Debates are perfectly fine, but as soon as any of you start with ratings, it’s your marks on the line.”

He stares pointedly at Minho, and then to the few others that had done the same.

“This is your only warning. The next time it happens, marks  _will_ be docked.”

The class ends filled with so much tension that you find your anxiety flying through the roof even though you weren’t a part of the spectacle, and the pink-haired boy beside you whispering excitedly how he was so dumb to think that this class would be boring and how he can’t hardly wait for the next one.

You don’t really share his sentiment.

 

* * *

 

“Y/N, how was your first day!?”

It was half past five and you were officially done with your first day of classes, and of course your best friend was the first of anyone to call you. You were walking across the campus grounds to get to the parking lot, your phone pressed between your right ear and shoulder while you looking through your purse for your car keys.  “It was… Interesting. My first class was fucking wild!”

“ _Ooh_ , tell me about it!” Jin says. “What happened?”

When you find your keys, you held onto your phone properly and you sigh thinking about how to answer Jin. Where do you even start? You definitely had to start with meeting Taehyung right? Since Jin knows him and all…  _And_  you’re pretty sure Jin had talked about how hot Taehyung was before.

After hearing that, you had Jin hanging on to each word you said. So you tell him about the man with the low score of 2.1 – well, now 1.9 – and even though you’ve only been in his presence for 2 hours, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut about him.

“Oh!” you quietly exclaim at something that catches your eyes.

Speak of the devil…

“Jin, I have to go. I’ll call you later, yeah?” You tell your best friend, eyes on the man sitting on a bench a few meters away from you. After Jin says his goodbye, you hang up your phone, stuffing it in your jeans’ back pocket while you start approaching the man you had your gaze on, not really knowing why you were compelled to do it. From your vision, you see his profile. It’s pretty obvious he is not one to really use his social medias seeing as his last update was from a week ago.

                                                

You stop directly in front of Yoongi, and even if he felt your presence, his attention doesn’t stray from the book he was reading.

“Hey!” you say a little bit too enthusiastically, and he finally looks up at you, an eyebrow quirking up. Grinning slightly, you introduce yourself, “uh, I’m Y/N, we have Criminology together.”

He stays silent but shuts his book, attention now fully on you. You start rubbing the back of your neck, feeling a bit self-conscious with what you’re going to confess to him next. After taking a deep breath, you tell him, “What you said in class… I… I agree with you. I don’t think ratings should matter, especially when dealing with serious matters like the verdict of a crime.”

He stands up, mouth opening to say something… That is until you took out your phone to rate him a full 5 stars - making his score jump back to a 2.1 – and his mouth clamps shut into a thin line. You look up from your phone to smile at him, expecting him to do something – say his thanks, rate you back,  _anything_  – but he just blinks at you, face blank. His stare was starting to make you sweat with uneasiness, but you couldn’t look away. Something about him seems so familiar, you were just having trouble putting a finger on what it was.

Then he scoffs, shaking his head as he breaks the eye contact first, walking away from you without any word at all – not even a goodbye.

You turn around, watching him leave. Your mouth parts with the corners perked up slightly - you didn’t know whether you should be offended or amused.

You’ve never met anyone like Min Yoongi before. And that intrigues you.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://minflix.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/minrosies) / [livejournal](https://minlouvre.livejournal.com/) / [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/minrosies)


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